


Three Jacks and a King

by SapphoIsBurning



Series: Magical Thinking [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Hoodoo, M/M, Post-Money in the Bank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 13:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12133533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: Corbin wants to change his luck. Dean has an idea.





	Three Jacks and a King

"I need to catch a fucking break," Corbin said. "I'm dyin out there."

"People die all the time, Corbs," Dean said, taking a swig of his beer. The kitchen was warm even with the air on, but the sun was going down.

"You know what I mean. Every time I set foot in a ring I look like a damn fool. Something got lost when I lost that fucking briefcase, when I...wasted it, I don't know. Do you think the case knows?"

"What, like the spirit of Money in the Bank? That's a new one, I have to say." He drummed his fingers on his bottle. "I don't think I buy it."

"Then what is it?" Corbin whined. He picked at the corner of the label on his beer with his thumbnail, trying to get it off clean. It tore and the bottle skidded away from him. Dean caught it.

"Whatever it is, you got it bad," Dean said.

Corbin started to lean back in his chair, tilting it up on two legs, but let the chair drop to the floor, feeling uneasy.

"But I got just the thing."

"Really?" Corbin asked.

"Unless you want me to read your fortune again. Might be good. Might be bad. We might need to change it."

Dean got up from his chair and went to one of his kitchen cupboards, rummaging around. "I know it's in here...no that's for baking...no, that's...what is that?" He opened a small bottle, sniffed it, frowned, and closed it. "Not sure what that is. Corbin, remind me to fucking label my shit. Ah, here it is." He pulled out a small brown bottle labeled with some cryptic letters. "You need Three Jacks and a King. Put some fucking hoodoo on you."

"You gonna get me a title shot with your spice rack?" Corbin said. He got up to see what Dean was looking at.

"Well, it's got a little basil, oregano. Parsley. Sage, rosemary and. Oh yeah, thyme."

"Dean, that's a turkey dinner not a magical spell. What are you doing."

"Shut up and give me your hand."

"Maybe I'll just try harder. I'm gonna smell Like Stove Top, Dean knock it off."

Dean took a step back, but still unstoppered the tiny glass bottle. A pungent aroma filled the room.

"That ain't fucking oregano oil, Dean," Corbin said.

"Okay. Well it does have thyme in it at least. It's fine. You got allergies?"

"No," Corbin said, frowning.

"It's got, like, galangal? It's kinda like ginger. And vetiver, which is kinda like lemongrass and you can basically use lemongrass if you want, it's easier to fucking find. Imagine my ass at Whole Foods looking for fucking herbs, it's a trip."

Corbin leaned back against the kitchen island. "Huh," he said. "But why does it smell like hippies."

"That's the patchouli, dumbass. And there's also some cardamom. And like an olive oil base."

"Is that all?" Corbin asked.

"Plus my special formula. Drop of Jack, drop of Jim Beam, drop of Johnnie Walker, drop of holy water. Three jacks and a king, like I said."

Corbin's eyes went wider. "Does it work?" he said in a low voice.

"Course it works. I'm livin' large, ain't I?" Dean gestured expansively to his house. "I'm a lucky son of a bitch. And don't you think I don't know it."

"So what, you make fucking witchcraft potions in your fancy kitchen?" Corbin said incredulously.

"Well, I used to make them in my mom's shitty kitchen, and then I made them in Roman's kitchen because I didn't have a kitchen, and then I didn't make them for a while, and now I make them here."

Corbin blinked slowly, thinking about the way Dean blew kisses to the sky from the top turnbuckle and crossed himself, the way he picked coins off the ground face-up, the way he'd casually turn over your fortune in a deck of cards, a million little things. And then he sighed. "I love you," he said. "But it's like as soon as I think I know you..."

"It's always gonna be like that with me, babe," Dean said, a little fire in his eyes. "All rabbit, no hat."

"Okay," Corbin said. "Lay some magic spell on me or whatever."

"Oh, geez, don't do me any favors or nothin," Dean said with a sardonic grin.

"Please." Corbin squeezed his eyes closed. "Please help me."

Dean hummed. "I like the sound of that," he said. "Give me your hands.”

Corbin kept his eyes closed and held them out. He felt a drop of something cold land on each palm.

"Rub that around and pray the twenty-third psalm," Dean said.

"I don't know the twenty-third psalm," Corbin said nervously. "This seems kind of mixed up."

"What the hell do you think hoodoo is, dummy?"

Letting go of the sparks forming behind his eyelids, Corbin opened his eyes and saw Dean's beaming blue eyes, laughing at him and taking him all in at once. He took Corbin's hands in his and stroked gently.

"You think this isn't it?" he said.

"I don't honestly know," Corbin said.

"Here," Dean said. "I'll pray it for you. The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."


End file.
